


Teaser: Lone Star Tour

by umbraja



Series: Teasers [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance, Closeted Keith, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Galra are rednecks, Getting Together, Hunk is a good friend, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith is stoic, LGBTQ issues, Modern AU, Multi, Musicians, Pidge is feisty, Pining Lance (Voltron), Racism, Sexism, University AU, all the isms cuz this is the south folks, gender fluid pidge, klance, lance pov, texan keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-02-26 10:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13233630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbraja/pseuds/umbraja
Summary: Slow burn Klance road trip was originally about the Paladins coming together to start a band and go on tour around Texas but reader feedback suggests it would be better to focus more on the relationship dynamic between Lance and a closeted, slightly homophobic, rodeo Keith.This is a teaser (kinda like a movie trailer) for a much longer fic idea I don't have time to finish. Leaving comments to ask for more might inspire me to continue. If you’re interested in finishing it yourself just ask.There's ashort continuationof this in my requests collection and I'll probably write more in this AU like that there cuz the world really does need more Rodeo Keith.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The teaser mostly glosses over events leading up to the band getting together. The first chapter will be where they meet Keith.
> 
> This started out as a songfic using the Beatles _With a Little Help From My Friends_ as a soundtrack. I recommend the version from _Across the Universe_ for its duet form though I had a cleaner one in mind when writing the song parts. The song got cut because it was getting too long but I’ll finish and post it if y’all are interested.

Lonely highway rolled over an endless plain that stretched for what seemed like ever. They’d been driving through cornfields half the day and open grassland the rest. Blue eyes stared out at the large round rolls of. . . whatever it was that dotted the hills. Hay? That was a lot of hay. In a lot of nothing. It was kind of bleak, desolate. So very different from the bustling city he was used to. “Are we there yet?” he droned for the hundredth time but his best friend and driver just ignored him again. Hunk was good like that. 

“Look, Lance,” the larger boy pointed out the windshield a few moments later as a sign came into view. 

“Welcome to Texas,” Lance read, leaning against his seatbelt for it, “Lone Star State.” He flopped back in his seat with a heavy sigh. “Fina-fucking-ly. How much farther?” 

“Uh. . .” Hunk punched a few buttons on the GPS clamped to the dash, glancing between it and the road as he probably shouldn’t be doing while driving. Not that there was anything to hit. “That can’t be right.”

“What?” Lance leaned up again and stared at the little screen. “What! No. Four more hours? How?”

“Everything’s bigger in Texas?” Hunk gave a meek little shrug. Lance threw his hands up with a disgusted sound.

* * *

Soundproof rooms lined the hall, tiny cubicles each with a well used piano and music stand. A few had students practicing. Lance breathed a heavy sigh as he pushed open the door to one and dropped his Real Book on the stand. Oh mamma what am I doing? He shook his head as he opened his case and pulled out the old Selmer alto sax. He flipped through a few charts as he wetted his reed then tilted his head curiously to stare at an old guitar propped in the corner. Been a long time. He glanced between the guitar and the sax briefly then set the sax down and pulled up the guitar, strummed to find it horribly out of tune. It made him smile. 

A few minutes later found him still trying to coax the guitar to hold a tune when his phone dinged a notice for a text. Lance set the guitar down and pulled out his phone then smiled again, even brighter.

A photo shone up from the phone under the name Hunk-a-licious. It was taken from the middle seats of an auditorium classroom, looking down at the little front stage and wall of white boards. Complex formulas, diagrams, graphs, charts, and equations filled the boards with information that would have made Lance’s head spin if he tried to read any of them but the small bit that simply read “Prof. Slav, Intro to Thermodynamics.” Thankfully, the boards weren’t the focus. It was the balding little professor in front of the boards that seemed to be the joke - or more accurately, the words stitched across the front of his sweater-vest, which read “It’s in the syllabus” that made Lance smile. Underneath the photo was a text from Hunk “My thermodynamics prof” with a few smiley face emojis. 

As Lance was typing a reply another photo came in, this time of the professor’s back which read, “This will be on the test.” Lance choked back a giggle then sent a string of laughing emojis.

* * *

The One O’Clock Lab Band was in full rehearsal, a swinging jazz filtered into the hall where Lance stood staring through the little window in the door. Iverson was an imposing conductor but the absolute best in the business, if you were willing to ignore his temper - which was legendary. Lance didn’t mind. He’d gladly take a high hat to the face just for an audition. He could keep up. He could be great if he just had someone to push him. If he just got the chance.

Someone missed a beat and Iverson threw his baton at a random victim then yelled harsh criticism between colorful profanities at his crop of young, talented musicians. Lance cringed slightly for some of it but that didn’t put a dent in his desire to be one of those poor punching bags. He caught the eye of one of the trumpet players and shared a sympathetic look but that caught Iverson’s attention and before Lance knew what was happening the door jerked open and he was face to red, pulsing veined face with the legend himself. 

“What do you want?” Iverson barked. Lance just squeaked. Iverson glared, “Beautiful voice. Chior’s down the hall. Now get your stupid face out of my window before your idiocy infects my band.”

Lance’s eyes went wide and he started to sputter but Iverson jabbed a finger to the hall and snapped, “Now!” 

Lance turned and scampered away, shaking. He still wanted in that band. You don’t major in music without being a masochist.

* * *

The greenspace in the middle of campus was dotted with ancient oaks and lounging students but Lance hardly gave them a glance as he walked by, head hung low, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. He should have gone with Hunk to Austin. He should have stayed in Chicago. It was stupid to transfer mid semester. 

Just as he was letting the depression settle in he stumbled forward from the force of a sudden and unexpected glomp. A nasally laugh cackled in his ear as the little gremlin wrapped herself around his back and shoulders. 

“Holy- what tha?” Lance gasped, stumbling around torn between keeping himself upright and fighting the attacker off. Then he heard a familiar voice.

“Uuh. . . sorry, man. . . uh. . . down Pidge,” Hunk did a poor job explaining.

“What’s a Pidge?” Lance almost snapped but his heart wasn’t in it. Hunk kind of waved at the gremlin on his back.

“She’s a Pidge. Also my roommate. Uhh. . . can you get off him now?” 

“He looked like he needed a hug,” the Pidge explained matter of factly then gave Lance a tight squeeze before jumping off. He lost his balance but Hunk caught him with a warm laugh and propped the lanky boy back up, holding him by the shoulders.

“You ok, man?” Hunk asked gently, genuinely concerned. Bless him. Lance couldn’t help a weak smile.

“Been better,” he shrugged with a sigh and Hunk gave him a sympathetic look then crushed Lance in a tight hug, lifting his feet of the ground for it.

* * *

The bars on 6th street were hip and plentiful. The UT girls were liberal with more than a little quirk. Much better than the pickings around Dallas. Kind of reminded Lance of home. He still wasn’t getting anywhere but he didn’t really care. He liked the chase more than the catch most of the time anyway. Though there were a few cute boys he wouldn’t mind catching for but he still wasn’t comfortable enough to be out in Texas. Not after all the things his big sister had told him about Good Ol’e Boy homophobia. No ass was nice enough to risk getting lynched over.

So Lance stuck with the girls. It wasn’t as if he didn’t appreciate them. They just didn’t seem to appreciate him back very often. Especially not tonight. But this Spring Break was just getting started even if the night was all but spent.

Lance shrugged off another rejection and failed not to stumble back to his seat with Hunk and Pidge in the corner. They were all beyond wasted, right into their third wind so Lance didn’t even hesitate when Pidge pushed him up onto the little stage in the back when the first opening riffs of ZZ Top’s La Grange started up on the Karaoke. He just belted his beautiful voice all over that song. Maybe they should go there? La Grange wasn’t far from Austin, right?

* * *

Lance was nearly convinced that all of Texas was long stretches of lonely highway dotted with the occasional traffic jam of scattered metropolises. Metropoli? Whatever.

“Who’s idea was this?” Lance huffed at the empty fields along the roadside. 

“Yours,” Hunk answered placidly and Pidge giggled.

“Why does the gremlin get front seat?” Lance kicked the back of her seat then jerked with a curse when Hunk slammed on the breaks. “What tha hell, man?” Lance barked as he got up from the floor of the old van to peer between the front (and only) seats accusingly at Hunk. The big guy just pointed out the windshield. 

There was a Prius half in the grass of the median, long tracks showing its trajectory from a crossroad onto the highway and then sharply off it again. Lance didn’t see the other vehicle until the Prius backed up then turned a tight corner onto the road and sped off. The man in the red racing jacket and ripped knee black jeans half chasing after it gave the red and black shape in the ditch meaning. A motorcycle.

“Did that car almost kill that guy?” Lance asked a bit breathless then arched a brow when the guy shouted after the car. 

“Go back ta California ye yuppie bitch!” and threw his helmet after the retreating Prius. 

“Too bad she missed,” Pidge muttered with a frown at the thick southern accent that accompanied the words and string of further profanity that followed. Lance did not disagree but Hunk shook his head at them.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” the big guy nearly clucked at him, ever the mother hen. And then he pulled the van over near the downed bike, threw her into park, and before either of them could stop him, Hunk was out and walking toward the still cussing, redneck biker. 

Lance recovered first and jumped out after him to stop whatever ill advised charity his best friend was about to offer but he stopped short when the biker turned around to glare at Hunk. It wasn’t the glare that stopped him. Oh, that was part of it, though not in the traditional way that a glare is supposed to stop a person. No. Lance was not intimidated in the least. He was dumbstruck by how inexplicably and absolutely, unfairly gorgeous the biker was. Despite having a mullet.

* * *

“Do it~” Pidge practically sang at Lance as she pushed him toward the arena of the rodeo grounds, or more specifically, at a certain mullet-head standing by the arena. 

Keith was in western wear today, a pearl snap western shirt and sinfully tight, authentically faded blue jeans with worn old cowboy boots and a big belt buckle to tie it all together. Keith was also standing with those redneck assholes from that Galra Brothers band. The lead singer had the word “Prince” bedazzled across the back of his denim jacket. As if that wasn’t gay. But he also had an entourage of hot dixie chicks hanging all over him just in case anyone found fault with his effeminate face or long, platinum hair. What Lance wouldn’t give for that kind of charisma. 

“Doooo eeeeeet~” Pidge pushed again and Lance stumbled slightly for it but they were, thankfully, too far away for anyone at the arena to notice. Too far for them to hear either as Lance whipped around with a hiss.

“Dammit, Pidge. This is not the place. This is the opposite of the place for that kind of thing. Are you trying to get me killed?”

“Uggh,” the little gremlin threw up her hands with a sigh. “It’s really not that bad. This isn’t Alabama. Just get him away from Prince and the Klan so you can actually talk.”

“I don’t even know if he’s. . . you know. Open?” 

“Ok. Fine. Make sure you’re still in sight of public when you talk to him. Seriously on that. If anyone’s gonna kill you for asking Keith out it’s gonna be Keith.”

“That is not helping,” Lance grumbled then arched a brow as a trio of new faces approached the rednecks. A tall, beefy fellow that had no business being so hot with an odd white tuft in his otherwise black hair walked with an equally unbelievably attractive dark skinned, white haired woman on one side and a gangly nerd to the other. Lance didn’t give that one much attention, too distracted by the first.

“Isn’t that your brother?” Hunk asked, nudging Pige. She grunted something that could be an affirmative.

Lance blinked then gaped a bit as the three stopped to mingle with the others and Mr. Beefcake gave Keith a familiar pat to the shoulder then dropped a cowboy hat on his head.

“Holy crap, he’s taken,” Lance nearly whined.

“You don’t know that,” Hunk shook his head with a sigh. “They could be brothers.”

“Dude,” Lance gave Hunk a stare then flapped a hand at the two, “Look at them. Just Look at them. Do they look like brothers?”

Hunk actually looked but Pidge threw up her hands again, “For fuck’s sake, Lance. Just go talk to him! You’ve never had any trouble talking to anyone ever before. What is wrong with you?!”

“You know. . . she’s right” Hunk offered a gentle smile to soften the words. Lance frowned but couldn’t really argue with it. 

“Ok. Fine. I’ll just go. . .” he trailed off with a confused expression as Keith pulled himself up onto the fence of the arena then over it. They were too far away to hear what the others said to him but it looked like general encouragement as Keith sat on something behind the fence. Lance had no idea what was going on as Keith gripped something tightly then braced just before a bell sounded and then a gate dropped and suddenly the boy was jolted away from the fence, carried on the back of a rather large and unsafely angry bull that did not seem pleased to have him there.

* * *

Keith slammed Lance against the back wall of the less than pristine men's room at the back of the seedy bar. Lance's heart stopped as his head struggled between relishing the feel of the shorter boy's fists gripping the front of his shirt and the very real fear that the fists' next move might be into his face. It was a risk he'd been willing to take when he followed Keith in here but now, feeling the strength in his grip, staring down at the fire in his eyes, Lance wasn't so sure. Too late for that. He'd already said it and no amount of backpedaling could take it back. He just hoped Keith wouldn't kill him. 

"I'm not gay," Keith's voice was thick, a little slurred as he leaned in close to say it. They'd both had way too many drinks. Lance would never have done this sober.

"Yeah, neither am I," Lance managed a little laugh and put on a coy grin holding up his hands in a wide shrug but didn't dare move any more than that. They were so close he could feel the breaths between them. Keith's eyes narrowed dangerously, challengingly as he considered Lance a moment then pulled him in slightly, faces nearly touching, only to slam him back again as if to emphasise his point.

"Why'd you ask me. . ." he trailed off, blush rising over the alcohol redness already on his cheeks. He didn't finish the question and just slammed Lance against the wall again with a low growl, "I am NOT gay."

"Okay, okay. That's starting to hurt," Lance kept up his smile, strained though it was, as he gently put his hands on Keith's wrists and tried to pull his shirt out of the other boy's grip. Loathe as he was to lose this closeness, it was getting dangerous. Keith made a sound somewhere between a whine and a snarl for the attempted escape and Lance was not prepared for what came next. He'd expected a punch or at least another slam into the wall, certainly not for Keith to jerk him forward and crush their lips together in the sloppiest, most desperately awkward and devastatingly hot kiss Lance had ever tasted.


	2. Bonus Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had enough people ask for this teaser/fic thing to be continued that I'm just gonna take it as somewhat of a request (garnered from comments) for Closeted/Homophobic/Rodeo Keith.
> 
> So I did a sort of continuation and posted it in my [Requests Collection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13256610/chapters/30734082).
> 
> It's not really the long fic this was meant to be and just a scene that would be a few chapters in but figured y'all might appreciate it none the less.
> 
> Leave comments here asking for more if you want the full story to be finished. I'll try to work it in if I get enough interest. Or just request little bits like this by commenting what you'd like more of in the Requests Collection.
> 
> And now for a little bonus scene to the linked bit. Go read that first.

Lance frowned as he watched Keith’s back following behind him to the parking lot. Those scratch marks hidden under Keith’s shirt taunted him. “Soo. . .” Lance drawled as they came to a stop by the motorcycle. “Nice hickie,” Lance wasn’t known for his subtlety. “It go with the scratches?” 

Keith tensed but turned to stare at Lance with a deeply furrowed brow a moment then rolled his shoulders slightly before looking away with a frustrated huff, “Yeah,” as he picked up his helmet from the bike. 

“You get a lot of that when you’re black out drunk?” Lance asked with a veiled judgement. Keith grit his jaw and glared at the helmet a moment. 

“Sometimes,” he grunted then tossed the helmet at Lance, who almost dropped it. “Now shut up and get on,” Keith nodded to the bike and swung a leg over. 

Lance blinked. He wasn’t sure what to make of that reaction and just a little freaked out by the thought that Keith might be dangerously promiscuous. It didn’t seem like him though. And then there was the bike. Which did seem the more immediate threat. 

“Get on. . . that?” Lance asked with a trembled little laugh. Keith gave him a flat look then turned on the engine. Lance jumped slightly when it roared to life before settling into a loping purr. 

“Who’s the bitch now, pretty boy?” Keith taunted. It was an obvious challenge but Lance did not miss the ‘pretty’ in that. It made his stomach do flips and he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Hey. I’ve seen you wreck that thing,” Lance huffed a stronger laugh with a little shrug as he turned the helmet over and tried to figure out how the straps worked. Keith rolled his eyes with a sigh. 

“You’ve seen me almost get run over. I’ve never actually wrecked Red,” he patted the scratched gas tank lovingly. 

“Red?” Lance paused his fiddling with the straps to give Keith an arched brow. “You named your bike.” 

“Bad luck ta drive a vehicle without a name,” Keith shrugged it off as if that was just common sense. 

“You named it Red,” Lance pointed out with a flat look. 

Keith tilted his head as if he didn’t see anything wrong with that. “She’s red,” he shrugged. 

“Remind me never to let you name anything,” Lance muttered with a laugh then stuffed the helmet on and settled into the seat behind Keith who rolled his eyes. 

“Whatever,” he muttered then glanced back. “You’re gonna want to hold on.” 

Lance blinked. “Uuuh. . .” he drawled but Keith just reached back to grab Lance’s hand and wrapped it around himself. 

“Not too tight. Keep yer feet on the pegs,” Keith nodded at the footpegs on the side of the bike. “Don’t lean like an idiot. Or squirm like a bitch.” He glanced over his shoulder to catch Lance’s eye. “Got it?” 

Lance hesitated a moment but, really, this was the stuff of dreams. He huffed a tight sound and put his other arm around Keith’s waist with the first, got a loose but firm hold then planted his feet on the pegs. “Got it,” he gave a tight nod then squeaked when Keith took that for permission to peel out like a damn fool. This boy was going to be the death of him, Lance was certain of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments sustain me so please leave some.
> 
> Feel free to request more of these two idjits in the [Requests Collection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13256610/chapters/30734082).


End file.
